Two Shades of Red
by jPod
Summary: My shoes are soaked in blood. My clothes are soaked in blood. My conscience is soaked in blood. And the blood isn't even mine.
1. The Crimson Layer

My second fic. Cause I was getting bored with my first one (not posted on um... enjoy? XD

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Chapter One -- The Crimson Layer

Shoes.

Originally used to protect your feet, and keep them warm. They come in different shapes and sizes, and colours. The type of shoes worn can tell you a lot about the person inside them. Wearing high heeled shoes every day of the week shouts out 'Slut' and wearing designer shoes all the time would suggest 'Rich'. Wearing trainers would be the practical man, and wearing high polished shoes would be the business man.

This would have made sense to me a few days ago.

But now, as I'm looking down at my own feet, I see holes have formed in many places. There's a couple on the side of the trainer, and I can feel the cold, damp snow pressed up against the sole of my foot. If I hadn't been wearing thick socks, my foot might have been numb. Not that I wasn't cold. I was definitely cold.

The most notable feature on my shoe, however, was the overall red colour covering the shoe. Blood.

White would seep through the red, and it's hard to tell if the trainer is white with red blotches or red with white blotches.

I know that they were originally white, though.

The red doesn't even look like blood, but as if the shoes had been designed like this. Then again, who'd design a shoe looking like this?

I take in the overall view of my shoes. Ripped and torn, with dried blood covering the surface.

Yeah, a few days ago, I would have said that a person's shoe tells you a lot about their personality.

But this definatly isn't me.

I'm not a wreak, and my shoes wouldn't normally be torn and tattered. Yeah, so, my family might be poor, but it doesn't mean I can't keep my trainers in good condition. My shoes are normally a bit dirty, but I wash them a lot.

Unfortunately, the blood has dried on, and it's not coming off.

Hell, the blood isn't even mine. And I've died a lot, so it should be mine. But I know that it isn't.

I haven't died in about two months. I guess it's a good thing. But, if I i had /i been dying, then I wouldn't of had a chance to get my shoes covered in the red, sticky, menacing liquid.

I wish I didn't have this blood on my shoes.

I wish I didn't have this guilty conscience.

I wish I hadn't--

"Kenny?"

I spin around to see two sets of green eyes digging into my own. It's Kyle, and he looks pretty cold. He's shivering from the cool breeze and the all-year-round snow layering the concrete. I guess I've been sitting by this lonely road for a while now, maybe two hours at the most. It must be about one in the morning now. And I'm not even tired. I can't sleep, not after what I did. No one could.

But, Kyle's awake, obviously. And, unless he's fucked his life over, too, then I can't see any reason for him to be out this late.

"Kenny? Why are you out here?"

Ah, ignorance. It's a beautiful thing. When you don't have a clue what's going on, and to you, it all makes sense. For me, ignorance didn't last long. I guess this is just the way I'm growing up. Or choosing to grow up. Who knows?

"Why are _you_ out here?" I shot the question back at him.

"I saw you out my window when I went to get a glass of water. You okay?"

I throw my head around to meet up with, indeed, Kyle's house. Damn. So much for not being interrupted. Guess I chose the wrong street to sit at.

"Yeah, I'm fine" I lie. Or at least, I assume I'm lying.

"So, why are you sitting out here?"

"Why not?"

Good question, Kyle. Why _am_ I sitting out here? God, I don't even know. Maybe it's to escape what I did. Maybe I'm just giving myself something to worry about. Maybe I'm looking for sympathy. Maybe I'm insane.

Maybe.

"Well, you're shivering, for one thing"

And now it's hit me. It's blowing a gale. The harsh wind is thrashing against my face, and it hurts. Though, I'm not really in the right place to be complaining about pain. The deep layer of snow beneath me feels as though it's slowly eating away at me, and I think my foot has turned numb now. In fact, I'm not really shivering, I'm shaking… violently.

Yeah, it's really, really cold. And I definatly shouldn't be out here. It's beyond what's considered safe. I should go home I guess.

"I suppose it's pretty cold"

"Hey, if you don't want to walk all the way back home in this weather, you can crash at my place tonight. My parents won't notice"

"Nah, it's not too cold. I'll be fine"

I stand up, and the weight of my body comes crashing down on my legs. It feels as though my legs have been frozen stiff, like as though with each extra step I take, a little part of my leg will break off until they eventually snap in two. Staying at Kyle's house does seem a bit more rational, for my leg's sake.

Then again, it's not like I haven't died before.

Suddenly the harsh thrashes against my face become a lot worse, and I realize that it's raining stones. Hail-stones, that is. I immediately put my hand up to protect my face, I guess that's just human instinct.

And now, staying with Kyle tonight is starting to seem a lot better, and warmer, for both me and my legs. Yeah, I'm not that insane, yet, and I wouldn't want to break my record of two months. I've got to avoid dying if I can.

I look on at Kyle again, my hand still held up to my face. I can just imagine what I look like right now. Cold. Worn out. Scrawny. Pathetic. One huge mess. One huge, whole, fucking mess.

Kyle doesn't look too much better, I guess. He's got dressed pretty un-tidily. He's wearing some jeans and what appears to be a green tee-shirt, covered over by his jacket. His hat is on his head, but it looks as though it's about to fall right off. His ginger curls are clearly visible, even more so than usual. Not only this, but he looks just as cold as the snow itself. He too is trying to block out the harsh weather with his gloved hand, not really succeeding. Not only is he cold, but he looks really tired.

He gazes back at me.

"Y-you sure?"

I take one more look at myself, and then the sky, and then back at myself. How could I say no?

"Maybe I w-will"

"C'mon then" He motions me to follow him into his house, and I obediently follow.

"Th-thanks, dude"

The only audible sound is that of the snow crunching beneath our feet, and the chattering of our teeth. Above all, is the noise of stones cracking against my ear-drums. The never-ending shower of rocks, thrashing against my cheek.

_Crack. Crack. Crack_.

Never-ending.

I'd close my eyes, to try and block out the noise, but I'd probably end up walking into a tree. Or a car. Or a pack of wolves. Something ridiculous like that. Anything that could kill me, basically. I have to stay alert.

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

It's so annoying. I can't even think. It's just there, and it's stopping me from processing anything.

I want to fucking be able to _think._

I need to be able think everything through. I need peace.

_Crack._

Stop.

And it does exactly that. The cracking noise stops. I'm inside Kyle's house now, and I'm walking up his stairs and into his bedroom.

"Just wait here, I'll find you something to sleep on."

I'm starting to warm up now, and I finally get to see myself in the mirror opposite. I've changed a lot since I was nine, both appearance wise, and personality wise. Now that I'm sixteen, I don't wear a parka anymore. I still keep to wearing orange; I think it suits me, but it would just be a simple tee-shirt, providing it wasn't too cold. Today would be an exception. Today I'm wearing a tattered long-sleeved top with jeans. Way too thin for the stone cold weather outside.

With no parka, that means no hood. I don't really care anymore for the little 'hats trend' Stan, Kyle, Cartman and I had going on. We've all outgrown that. None of them wear theirs, either. Cartman and Stan never wear their's anymore. Kyle will occasionally, but only if the weather is morbidly cold. Makes sense, I guess, even if the hat doesn't really fit his head anymore. I suppose it's for sentimental purposes more than anything.

Today though, I wish I did have a hood to cover my almost in-human face. I'm pure white, and it looks as though my lips are turning blue. My eyes have lost their usual blue colour, and are now a husky grey. In fact, my eyes are so dark, from sleep deprivation, that it's hard to tell that they're eyes in the first place.

My hair isn't anything to brag about either. The wind has tangled the strands into each other, it's usually pretty messy anyway, but right now, it's _beyond_ messy.

I could try and sort it. It might take a while and I can't really be bothered with it. It's not really too important either. I'll see to it in the morning.

The door creaks open, and Kyle walks in, throwing some sheets on the floor for me.

"Here you go. Sorry, it's probably not the comfiest thing to sleep on"

"That's okay, dude. It's a lot better than having to walk home in this"

"Yep. Well, I'm gonna crash now"

"Sure. Night"

"Night"

The lights flick off, and now I can't see my reflection in the mirror. Finally, a chance to think things through with myself. No distractions, no interru--

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

_Bloody clock._


	2. Nothing is going to Change

Sorry for a bad chapter, I rushed it. (been busy lately)

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There's a huge black void just outside that window. Empty, apart from a few, meaningless white specks, and a rather small, glowing, semi-circle. I can't see above the darkness, can't see below it, and can't see around it. It's just there, and it's filling up the whole window. And, it's so dark that I can barely make out the room I'm in. I can sort of see a bed, and there is a glowing, red light on the VCR. I can only just see the window frame, but if I couldn't, then the night sky would blend in as if it were the walls.

And the clock is still ticking away, but if I concentrate on something else, I won't notice it. I know I won't get to sleep anyway, but the clock isn't the problem. I guess the problem is, well… me.

I find self-pity really _distracting_, and also pretty annoying. The last thing Kyle wanted was to have to take me in for the night, but I guess if you see someone on the curb outside your house, you're going to do something. Most likely, give them the pity they have been thriving, because then, at least, they will get the hell off the curb.

Then again, maybe this isn't self-pity. I'm not exactly feeling sorry for myself; I think I'm in denial more than anything. And denial is even worse than pity, because at least with pity, you have acknowledged that what you did was fucking terrible.

I look up at the window again, to see that the stars have shifted across the sky. So, the world is still spinning. I wish it wasn't though.

I mean, if time itself just stopped, then I wouldn't have to worry about anything. Because everything would be dead to me. All my friends, my family, the teachers, the workers, the cleaners, the dustbin men, the birds, the rats, hell, even the fucking cockroaches would be dead. Everyone would be gone, except me.

Then again, that is _probably_ the only thing that could ever bring my life to a halt. For one, I can't die without Satan playing one of his dirty tricks on me and resurrecting me. So basically, if the world stopped, and everything froze, everything except from me, then it'd be just like dying. No problems ever again.

It'd be the only way to escape. But the world is never going to freeze, and I'm never going to die and i stay /i dead. So, how can I possibly escape this?

I guess there's always the choice of running away. There are plenty of unoccupied places on this earth, and I wouldn't need to worry about extreme conditions. Because I'll always come back. Nothing is ever going to change.

No, no, no. What the hell am I saying? I can get through this, and I can sort it all out, and everything will be fine. Stan will forgive me, Kyle will never find out, and Cartman will still remain caught up in sweet ignorance. And then, everyone can be happy, and nothing has to change.

Except from me, I should change, but can I? I don't even know anymore what's right and what's wrong.

I look through the window once again to that gaping dark space, which isn't so dark anymore. The sun is steadily rising up from beneath the mountains, and is shining in on us. I can now make out Kyle, who looks as though he might wake up at any second.

I'd rather him not wake up though, because I'm fed up of having to explain things to people. It's all so tiring (in the sense that I can't be bothered) and I can't be dealing with anything else right now. I'm confused enough as it is.

For starters, I don't want to deal with Stan, even though I know I really, really have to. It's all so confusing, because one minute I'm guilty, and the next I cower out of confronting him. I really do have some explaining to do. Just not to Kyle, because if he ever finds out what happened, I'm as good as dead.

Ha. As good as dead. Who am I kidding? That would imply that Kyle wouldn't give a shit, when he _so_ definatly would.

I don't understand why my life has to be so confusing. I'm immortal, and I should be happy, but there's a limit of how many times someone can die before going insane. And that's when you just want to i stay /i dead. It makes no logical sense.

But I guess that's life – it's not logical. We are all just here, not even for a purpose, on this spinning globe, just for god's sick pleasures. So he can watch us from above as everyone's minds rot from all the propaganda. And I feel as though I'm the only one who understands this. One half of the world is trying to find some huge scientific theory, while the other half are on their hands and knees praising God Almighty. They only find out the truth when they die. I bet most of the deceased are twitching and squirming in their graves. What a wonderful life, when even the dead don't get the peace they deserve.

So, maybe death doesn't escape it. Either way it doesn't matter, I don't need to worry.

A sharp noise startles me, and I jump up from my sheets. It's Kyle's stupid alarm clock, and it's only seven AM. And it's Saturday. Thanks for that, Kyle.

He squirms in his sheets and thumps the alarm clock with his fist, but the beeping doesn't stop, so he just grabs the cable and rips it out of the socket. I guess that's one way to stop it. He looks so tired and fed up, and pretty pissed off.

"Sorry, I didn't even realize today was Saturday"

"You didn't realize it was Saturday?" I reply, and I find him hard to understand. He looks so depressed and oblivious to the fact it's a weekend. There must be something wrong, because Kyle's usually quite perky, at any time. "Everything okay?"

And now he looks as though he's about to throw up, or about to cry or something. But he still looks utterly exhausted, and deep in thought. I don't suppose everything is 'okay'.

"Just tired. Didn't get much sleep."

"Hey, sorry I had to crash here, dude. I can go now if you want, so you can get some sleep." But I wasn't at all sorry, I was more sorry for myself than anyone else.

"I'm not blaming you. It's just…" And he sighs, what the hell is wrong with him? "Look, it doesn't matter. I won't be able to get back to sleep now, so, do you want to just… I dunno… we could call on Stan or something?"

No way, we can't see Stan. I'll panic when I'm around him, and this won't get us anywhere. Heck, I'm even panicking now, just from the sound of his name. I have to just make up some crappy, lame, excuse. Any crappy excuse will do. "I- er- well, it's seven AM. He won't be up."

"Yeah, he will. He doesn't know how to unset his alarm."

I don't know if its instinct, but I release a small nervous giggle at this comment. It's not even funny, it's just Kyle's crappy excuse on why we should go there. And the worst part is that I can't think of a come back. And I definatly can't tell him the truth.

Kyle just looks on at me with a sarcastic look upon his face. This isn't going to get anywhere, maybe it would be best for me to just play along. "Alright, we can go to Stan's"

And he's now looking at me with mixed expressions. His eyes are looking straight into mine, and one of his eyebrows is raised. His mouth has twisted into a slight curve, and is raising his cheekbone. Not only this, but his eyes seem so empty, and he looks as though he's lost. I can't decide what to make of it all.

Finally, we break the stare and Kyle slips off the bed and trudges towards his shoes. I assume I should do the same. We are both so quiet while we tie up our laces, neither one of us is going to speak. I, for one, have nothing to say, so unless Kyle needs to say something, I guess we will be in silence for a while.

"You never did tell me, Kenny… why were you outside last night?" So, I suppose Kyle does still have a thing or two left to say. But I still don't see why the hell I should tell him anything.

"…I was tired, so I sat down for a rest." I hate lies, I really do, unless they're absolutely necessary. And that lie was definatly absolutely necessary.

"Oh, 'cause I got the impression you had been there for a while."

Oh, shit.

"It was a long rest." _He knows something._ It doesn't make any sense, though. If Kyle knows, then why am I still in his house? Surely he'd have thrown me out by now.

"Also, I've been meaning to ask you this for a while…"

"Yeah?"

"Whose blood is that's on your shoes?"


End file.
